


Tell Me Where

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birth, M/M, Mpreg, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The baby's outgrowing its home, and decides that it's time to meet its parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Where

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posted mpreg fic. I have a bunch more in the works, if people are interested I'll certainly post some more. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and I'm looking for betas if anyone's interested.

Stretched out on the couch, John's stomach was flatter than usual, but it still made for an impressive mound. Shirtless, the skin covering his belly was lightly tanned and marked only by a few errant freckles. A light dusting of hair trailed down from his protruding navel and disappeared below his pyjama waistband, pushed low by the curve of his belly. A ripple passed underneath the skin, a tiny elbow or foot moving inside his womb. John shifted, still deep in sleep, his hand rubbing lazily over the tiny distortion. 

The movement stilled as the baby ceased its restless kicking. John rolled onto his side, his arm lying across his belly and fingertips barely brushing the skin. Sherlock looked up over the screen of his laptop as his husband changed positions. As he watched, John started to whimper, his hand twitching rapidly until he finally woke with a jolt. 

"John, are you quite alright?" Sherlock asked, closing the lid of the laptop and setting it aside. "You're not having contractions, are you?" 

John squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "No, I don't think so, but the baby-" he winced and pressed a hand to his stomach. "The baby's trying to stretch out but there isn't quite enough room." Sherlock's eyes moved to John's middle, which, as he watched, was becoming more oblong, a rounder bulge at the top where the baby's head pushed out and a smaller bulge at the base where its feet pressed. John was chanting, a soft but rising chorus of "ow, ow, ow" as the baby stretched to its full length inside its too-small home. 

"What can I do to help?" Sherlock asked quietly, rising from the chair and moving to John's side. He lifted a hand and it hovered above John's stretched belly, worried that if he set it down it would add to the agony John already felt. 

"Nothing," John ground out, his hands curling into fists as he rolled onto his back. "Oh, my god, baby, there's not enough room for you to do that," he groaned, his head tossed back against the cushions and lips set in a firm line. He unclenched a hand and laid his fingers on the taut skin, where the baby's head pressed against his womb, and Sherlock added his own long-fingered cool palm against the baby's feet. 

John pressed back lightly, and slowly the bulge began to recede. Sherlock's fingers slid up the side, feeling the baby's limbs curl back up into their natural state and John's muscles relaxing as the tension was released. "Oh thank god," John exhaled in a rush, breathing heavily as his lungs were now unobstructed by the baby's change in position. Sherlock helped him to sit up, and rubbed a palm on the small of John's back. 

"Okay now?" he asked quietly, drumming the fingertips of his free hand against John's knee. John nodded as he caught his breath. 

"That wasn't fun last month, or the month before, and it's certainly not fun now. Baby's outgrowing his home." 

"Any day now," Sherlock remarked, and John nodded again. A few moments of silence passed before John winced once more, shifting positions again. "John?" 

"Any day now," John repeated, laughing. "Today, I should think." 

"Today?" Sherlock asked, confused. "What do you mean, today?" 

John's breath caught in his throat for a few moments before he released it in one long exhalation. "Apparently that stretch was the baby's way of saying 'hello'. I have a feeling we'll be meeting little one in a few hours, if that contraction was any indication."   
"Contraction? You never said anything about contractions," Sherlock exclaimed, sitting up straight. 

"The stretch. I think it triggered labor," John replied. "Or it's been going on for a little while, while I was sleeping, and the stretch brought it on stronger. Either way, we'd better get things set." He looked around, searching for his shirt amongst the strewn cushions. Sherlock sat, pale and still, at John's side. "Sherlock?" 

Sherlock's eyes were glued on his fingers, motionless now on John's knee. John reached up with one hand and touched Sherlock's chin softly. "Hey. Where are you?" 

"I'm right here," Sherlock answered absently, pulling away a little from John's touch. 

"No you're not. Come back." John curled his fingers beneath Sherlock's jaw, guiding the man to face him. Sherlock's head turned reluctantly, and his eyes lifted to meet John's. 

"I'm…there's an emotion, and I don't know what it is," Sherlock said, his tone barely controlled with undercurrents of panic and helplessness. 

"Tell me where you're feeling it," John encouraged, keeping his hand under Sherlock's jaw. 

"Here," Sherlock replied, waving a hand around his sternum, "and here, tight." The hand rested over his chest. 

"Ah," John exhaled, smiling. "I know precisely what that is." Sherlock's eyes searched John's, pleading for an answer. "You're concerned, and excited," he said, moving his hand in reverse order of Sherlock's. His thumb ghosted over Sherlock's clavicle, his short surgeon's fingers gripping the muscle of Sherlock's shoulder. "Can you tell me why?" 

"Concern due to the pain you're currently experiencing and are going to experience as a direct result of a situation in which I played a part in putting you," Sherlock said, voice wavering but growing in confidence as he deduced the root cause behind his emotions. "Excitement because in a matter of several hours to a day we'll have a son." 

"Good, very good. Do you feel anything else?" John inquired, smiling tentatively. 

Sherlock nodded, returning John's smile. "Fluttering, here." He took John's hand in his own and laid it over his heart. "But I know what that one is." 

"Good. So do I." 

\------------

"Hooooooooh god, oh god, oh god, it hurts, Sherlock." John's voice broke and he let out a low agonized moan as he clutched at the bedsheets. 

"It's okay, John, I'm right here." Sherlock squeezed John's knee and fingered the towel beneath him nervously. John's contractions were close, but his perineum had yet to bulge. The midwife said as soon as the skin started to push out, it would be safe to make the incision, but Sherlock was starting to worry. "What can I do?"

"Get it out of me." John barked out a sob. Sherlock grimaced and slid his hand up John's bare thigh, to the crease of his groin. John groaned as Sherlock pressed his fingers against John's perineum. 

"It's not bulging yet, I can't cut you open." 

"Do something. Distract me," John pled, looking down over the bulge of his belly to where Sherlock sat. "Please." 

Sherlock squirmed. "There's only…a few ways I know how to distract you, and I'm not sure if you'd appreciate them." 

"Anything." John writhed on the bed as another contraction gripped his middle. 

Sherlock hesitated a moment before sliding off the bed to pull a tube of lubricant from the bedside table drawer. He slicked a finger and climbed back between John's spread legs, pressing against the man's entrance and feeling the skin relax under his touch. "Okay?" he asked. 

"Yes, more, please." John moaned through another contraction. "Just go, please." Sherlock pushed in to the first knuckle and then stopped, feeling how tight John was around him. Sherlock exhaled and pushed in further, and as John's muscles relaxed Sherlock added a second finger. "Sherlock, I need - please, I need-" Sherlock bent his fingers and pressed against John's prostate, trying to give the laboring man pleasure to override his pain. John cried out wordlessly as the pleasure spiked behind his navel, and his back arched from the bed. "Yes! Oh god, more." 

As Sherlock added a third finger, he started a slow, building rhythm, fucking John with his fingers. He thought briefly about asking John if this was helping, but he deduced from John's cries and the way he was tightening around Sherlock's fingers as his cock grew to hardness that the answer was rather obvious. 

There was a sudden change in pressure around Sherlock's fingers, and John's thighs tensed and he howled. "John! John, what's happened?"

"Holy fuck, oh god it's, it's shifted and I think it's moving down," John panted. Sherlock set his free hand on John's belly and rubbed gently as he slid his fingers out of John. "No! Put them back, please." 

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed with concern. "John, I don't want to hurt you. Is this…really helping?"

John nodded furiously and he reached down with one clammy hand to grasp at the palm Sherlock had laid out on his belly. "I want you in me," he moaned. 

Sherlock's eyes went wide. "In you?"

"Fuck me, Sherlock, please. I need it." 

"John, you're in labor." Sherlock had reinserted his fingers, but they were still. 

"Yes, I bloody well know that and I want you to fuck me." John growled. He clamped down on Sherlock's digits and groaned as another contraction rippled through his body. 

Sherlock gasped and withdrew his fingers. "All right, all right," he conceded, sitting back and looking at John. Now that he really looked, he could see how aroused John was, cock leaking as it stood at full attention and eyes dark with lust.   
Sherlock himself wasn't hard, seeing his husband in pain wasn't arousing in the least. Nevertheless, it only took a few minutes to stroke himself to hardness, and he slowly positioned himself between John's legs. He hooked John's knee over his shoulder, and John cried out as the shifting limb ground against the baby moving into his birth canal. "Okay?" Sherlock asked, and waited for John to nod before he lined up and pushed in slowly. 

A low moan escaped John as Sherlock entered his body, and Sherlock moaned in return. This was different than usual, tighter and with more pressure. He started to rock his hips slowly. He was starting to lose himself to the sensation when John's body contracted around him and John yelled. "God, I'm not going to fucking break, Sherlock, fuck me." Sherlock snapped his hips harder and pushed in as hard as he could, fighting against John's tense body. Sherlock could feel the bulge of the baby's head and shoulders as they moved down with the contraction, just a thin membrane between himself and his child. 

Without warning, John screamed and came, cock spurting across his belly. "Shit, it's coming, Sherlock," he cried hoarsely, and as Sherlock buried himself deep in his husband and orgasmed he could feel John's perineum pressing out against his own groin. 

Sherlock withdrew as his cock finished pulsing, and without hesitation dove off the bed to clean himself with a cloth and reach for the surgery kit. He climbed back onto the bed and wiped John's belly clean, and set the cloth aside before swabbing John's perineum with iodine. John was openly sobbing into the pillow and clutching the sheets as contraction after contraction forced the baby further into the birth canal. 

Sherlock counted down from thirty and waited for the iodine to do its work before reaching for the scalpel. "I'm sorry, John, please hold still, I can't cut you unless you're still." John stopped rocking his hips with a groan of effort and Sherlock grimaced and positioned the scalpel just behind John's testicles. "Here we go," he murmured, and made the incision. 

There wasn't as much blood as Sherlock expected, but the amount of birth fluids that gushed from the new opening was more than he was prepared for. The towel managed to soak up most of what was expelled, but he was pretty sure it had soaked through the towel and into the mattress. 

John was panting and obviously holding back a scream as the last of the amniotic fluid dripped from his new opening. "You can push now, John," Sherlock said softly, squeezing John's hand. 

John shook his head vigorously and grunted. "No, I can't, I can't do it, it's too big," he moaned. 

"You can do it, John, you're ready now. I could feel the baby, when I was inside you, you know that? It's there, and it needs you right now. Push, John." 

John took a deep breath, and then another, and as a new, stronger contraction came on he let out a raw scream and pushed as hard as he could. A few drops of blood dripped from John's incision and Sherlock could start to see a dark head emerging from the slit. "Crowning," Sherlock murmured, and John nodded and his knuckles turned white as he clutched the sheets tighter. His hips lifted from the bed as he strained, and Sherlock pulled gently at the skin of John's perineum to try and help stretch it. 

As John labored, his voice grew more and more hoarse until his screams were hollow and mostly silent. Sherlock grasped his husband's hand and let him squeeze as a distraction. Finally, finally, the baby's head broke free, and John collapsed back against the pillows as Sherlock checked for an umbilical cord and cleaned its nostrils. "God, it's beautiful, John." 

John could only nod weakly and wait for Sherlock to tell him to resume pushing. He was exhausted, hair slick against his forehead and dripping with sweat. He ached all over, and the hardest part was yet to come. 

John heaved a sob and his hands scrabbled frantically at the sheets. He murmured something, but Sherlock couldn't hear what it was. "Say it again?" 

"I want to…I need to feel it, please." John's voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, but the look in his eyes had Sherlock's face creasing in sympathy. 

"Of course." Sherlock took John's hand and guided it around the diminishing curve of his belly and down to where the baby's head was hanging, wet and dark, between his legs. "Your baby." 

"Oh, my god," John breathed, fingers fumbling blindly over the child's small features and wet hair. 

Sherlock gave a wet chuckle in reply and squeezed John's hand. "Ready to meet your baby?" John nodded and started to push with the contractions again. 

"Be strong," Sherlock murmured, watching as the baby turned sideways with each of John's mighty pushes. He wanted to help, but the midwife had told Sherlock to let things progress naturally and not to interfere unless it was absolutely necessary. He sat back and watched as John's body brought their child further and further forth. 

Slowly, with every cry and grunt from John, the baby's shoulders started to emerge, and as first the left and then the right worked free Sherlock gently hooked his fingers beneath its arms and tugged in tandem with John's pushes. "Just…one more, I think, John, just one more hard push and you'll be done." 

Nine hours, forty-six minutes and seven seconds after John's labor started, their baby was born. 

Michael Callum Holmes-Watson, at eight pounds, one ounce, and measuring 51 centimeters long, was laid on his papa's heaving chest by his father, who had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from crying. Michael laid quietly, looking up with blue eyes in apparent wonder at his exhausted papa. He was slick with blood and fluid, and as his father laid a blanket across he and his papa to make sure they were both warm he decided it was a bit chilly and that he would really rather like something to eat, thank you very much. Papa's finger, while the right size, didn't seem to give him any satisfaction and he started to blubber before papa caught on and moved him to his soft breast. If Michael thought it was a bit silly that both his dads were crying as he ate, he wasn't going to say anything about it. 

Sherlock finished cleaning John's incision and winced in sympathy as he injected the anesthetic to do the stitches. Michael was feeding sleepily on John's chest, and quiet tears rolled down John's cheeks as he watched his son. It didn't take long for Sherlock to finish stitching John, and stood for a moment looking at his husband and child before padding to the kitchen to make a cup of tea for John, who he was certain was bone exhausted. He brought the steaming cup and a bowl of oatmeal back in, and handed them to John, who murmured 'trade you' and gave Sherlock the baby. 

Sherlock cradled his son in his arms and bounced gently on the balls of his feet, watching the child's tiny features scrunch in a yawn. Michael gurgled happily as Sherlock lifted him to burp, and Sherlock stifled a cry as the baby's tiny coo announced that he was ready to be laid back down again. His emotions were all over the place, and he turned to John for help as he settled Michael back into the crook of his arm once more. The baby felt natural there, like Sherlock had been built to hold this infant, and as tears ran unbidden down his cheeks he felt more whole than he had in years. 

"Tell me where," John murmured, and Sherlock nodded to where the baby was drifting off to sleep, head resting over his heart. "You know what that one is." 

"Yes, I do."


End file.
